


Bros Before...

by Ladybmorebelle



Series: Wanting it All [2]
Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, First Time, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, bros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 06:23:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15406950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybmorebelle/pseuds/Ladybmorebelle
Summary: Major feels like shit. Ravi feels like shit.They resolve to do something about it.





	Bros Before...

You’d think that being dead would have some effect.

Major Lilywhite had lived a life of intensity, hiding it under a veneer of calm certitude. When Liv left him, he didn’t stage a freakout, didn’t bother to cry, but what he felt was a torrent of raging pain. Abandonment.

So it came easily to him, kidnapping zombies, drugging them, putting their sluggish bodies in the deep freeze; and fucking Rita was easy, and a relief, and kind of excruciating in how good it felt to let go. To want, and to hate. Every bad thing he did in the pursuit of Liv’s safety was simple, and even if he felt himself slipping into madness he relished the release - dancing on the edge of a knife. 

He had hoped that being a zombie would tamp some of that down, would control the unquenched desires boiling under his skin. But here, in the living room he shared with Ravi, his stomach full of some nameless murder victim, he felt the wet heat of passion unrewarded. 

His flesh was dead. He looked calm, from the outside. But he was hot and angry and rock-hard.

The lights were low, just a slight golden halo around the lamps, and the big screen television was glowing, sound turned down to almost nothing. He’d fallen asleep. Two empty beer bottles, and one half-empty, cluttered the coffee table in reach of his left hand. His dove grey t-shirt was bunched up around his ribcage, shorts riding low on his hips, and he could see the outline of his hard-earned muscles in the dim light. He ran his hand over his face, feeling the impression of the decorative pillow case on his cheek, and then let his hand brush down over his exposed skin. 

The television had been tuned to an old movie - “From Here to Eternity” - and now, at one in the morning, it showed fuzzy images of soft core pornography. It was the kind of stuff he had watched as a teenager, late at night and hoping his parents wouldn’t wake up. He and Liv - he clenched his jaw and closed his eyes - they’d spent a night in a high-end hotel for their second anniversary, and they’d put soft core porn on the tv, drinking overpriced champagne and laughing hysterically.

A woman moaned. Major opened his eyes and watched as a man took her from behind. The angle was all wrong, and they were absolutely faking it, and it was as ridiculous now as it was during that night at the Ritz-Carlton, but instead of laughing he moved his hand lower.

Passion. Undead. Unabated. No outlet other than this, touch in isolation.

His movements were slow, languorous, but somehow mechanical. Growing warmer, he sat up, pulled his shirt over his head and threw it behind the couch. His eyes focused on the tv, closed - an image of Liv swam behind his eyelids - and opened again. With each stroke his heart rate increased - he could almost hear his personal trainer voice, calculating optimum heart rate for a sedentary thirty year old male - and his breath caught in the back of his throat. Almost, almost, but each time he looked away from the television he saw Liv - not the Liv from before, but Liv now, pale and bruised and cold. Imagining her like that, he felt the raging passion and anger and hurt and he was right on the edge of that knife, right at the cusp of the end of the world, and before he could come in a painful, urgent burst, he pulled his hand away.

“Fuck.”

He heard the sounds, unmistakable, of keys dropping on the hardwood floor. 

He smelled jasmine and alcohol and the cool tingle of menthol. 

“Er, hi. Sorry to interrupt.” 

Major cleared his throat. His eyes were watering - he pushed away the sneaking suspicion that he had been crying. 

“Hey. Uh, no, I -”

He pulled his shorts back up as quickly as humanly possible and reached for a throw blanket, finding himself folding it over his lap in a bizarre mockery of tidy hospitality. He frowned at the quilt and caught Ravi’s face - great. It looked like he was trying not to laugh.

“No, no. Don’t -”

There was actually something fascinating about the face Ravi was making. It seemed to alternate between hilarity, embarrassment, and something else - something that made Major’s heart beat faster. 

“So,” Ravi turned, his profile visible, and he looked like he was coming to a decision. He dropped his messenger bag, “So I’ve had a shit day.”

“Uh…” Major didn’t know what to say - me too? Obviously? 

“I’m grabbing a beer,” Ravi walked towards the kitchen, and Major felt his shoulders slump with - with maybe a little disappointment. As awkward as this situation felt, he didn’t want to be alone again with the noise in his head.

“And then I’m coming, er,” he flushed and walked faster, “I’m coming back.”

Major heard the sound of the fridge opening, of Ravi putting his jacket down on the kitchen island, of carbonation escaping from an opened bottle. Two bottles. He slid over on the couch, taking the old quilt with him, and propped his feet up on the coffee table. He should have been entirely unaroused - nothing sexy about your roommate walking in on, well - but he was as hard as ever, harder than he had been in a long time. He clutched the blanket over his abs and legs. Fuck, he needed to come. 

But Ravi said he had a bad day. And that was more important than -

Ravi settled into the couch next to him and passed him a beer. 

“Cheers.”

He took a big gulp and stared straight ahead - at the soft core porn that was still playing on Ravi’s huge television.

Great.

“I’m in love with Peyton.”

Ravi looked a little slumped over, himself. He picked at the label on the beer bottle, peeling it away from the glass. 

“But I’m not - it’s not, like, totally out of the question that I cannot take one more shit night alone.”

Major nodded, had no idea what to say. He was starting to get really uncomfortable, tucked under the quilt. He shifted in his seat, and his leg brushed against Ravi’s thigh, and his cock twitched like a motherfucker.

Ravi drank his beer, half the bottle in one go. He stretched his legs out, heels on the coffee table, and there was a hot line of contact, his flesh glued up to Major’s. 

They both breathed out at the same time.

“Tell me you don’t want it, and I’ll go.”

The living room smelled bitter like hops, sweet and cloying like jasmine, and damp and primal like sex. 

Feeling like a teenager again, Major stretched, lowering his arm behind Ravi’s shoulders.

It was dancing on the edge, again, and there was an hysterical laugh threatening to explode from within him, and it was good and wrong and hot, and he’d never done this before. He looked at Ravi’s profile, his soft beard and dark eyes, and he thought, I trust you.

“Tell me what you want.”

Ravi smiled, suddenly nervous.

“I want you to move that blanket.”

“Okay.” 

Ravi’s hand slid over his thigh and onto Major’s. His muscles tensed, the hand stilled - and then Ravi moved with confidence and scientific certainty and wrapped his fingers around Major’s cock and god, yes, this was better than being alone.

But he wasn’t selfish, and he could see the outline of Ravi’s - rather impressive - cock along the inseam of his trousers. He reached over and put his hand over Ravi’s fly - he waited for a nod of assent, fervent and grateful, and unzipped. 

There was something different about a man’s hands. Major touched his roommate - his best friend - in the ways he liked to be touched, and Ravi’s precise but firm fingers quickly found the right rhythm. And it was different, hearing the sounds a man makes, breathed expletives, bass moans. Ravi was vocal, and that - that was hot, that was like fireworks, and who knew they could have been doing this all along - and Major was so fucking close.

“I’m -”

“Go ahead.”

Fuck, his orgasm felt like it came from the tips of his toes. His eyesight went black, just for a moment, and he felt something sharp on his shoulder - god, Ravi bit him, and his nails dug into his thigh, and holy shit it hurt and it was amazing - and then Ravi shot all over his hand, and they were wet and sticky and most assuredly not alone. 

“Jesus Christ.”

He started laughing, and Ravi’s head dropped back onto the couch, watching him.

“I feel like this gives a whole new meaning to ‘bros before hos.’”

“Nice,” Ravi rolled his eyes, then looked shy, “Good?”

“Yeah,” Major picked up the quilt and dried them off, then ran his hand through Ravi’s hair, suddenly tender, “Good.”

Ravi leaned into his hand, then shoved him with his shoulder.

“Thanks.”

“I mean, yeah. Not the way I expected the night to go. But no complaints.”

Ravi smiled at him, then glanced at the tv.

“Major, you have abysmal taste in pornography.”

He actually blushed.

“It’s what was on,” their legs were still touching, and that was - that was nice, “What are you, some sort of porno connesieur?”

Ravi picked up the banter, and they were still them, just - 

“I have impeccable taste, I’ll have you know. None of this mass marketed malarkey.”

“Hmm,” Major’s smile was slow, calm, intense, and full of promise, “Maybe you can show me sometime.”

Ravi froze. For a minute, just a split second, Major worried that this was it - that it was just a shit night, a shit day, and that in the morning it would all be wiped away.

And then Ravi grinned at him, young, goofy, and hot.

“How about tomorrow?”

“Er, yeah,” he picked up his neglected beer, “Sure.”

It was almost two in the morning, and he knew Ravi had work in the morning and that they both probably had better things to do, but they sat there for another two hours running commentary on the directorial choices of low-budget smut. Major put his arm along the back of the couch again, and he smiled to himself when Ravi leaned in; Ravi gesticulated with his right hand in between resting it on Major’s thigh. Companionship - friendship - and something else. Something new.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up, he was tucked under a blanket, beers cleared away, a lump of hot anger missing from its customary place in his chest - and next to him was a note scrawled in Ravi’s scrolling script. He laughed. 

See you tonight.  
(Bro.)

Major stood up, stretched, and for the first time in far too long looked forward to the day.

And the night. Yeah.

Finally. The nights were going to be good.

**Author's Note:**

> A quick, happy, porny read. I love the hell out of mutual. This is part two of my polycule series idea...


End file.
